why’s their car in the driveway?”
Catherine stopped and looked at his scrunched up features, serious eyes so like the father he would never meet. She had no answer to his question or to the others that crowded in alongside. Why had the front door been left unlocked and swinging in the breeze? Why hadn’t Adele answered her phone all afternoon? The anxious feeling returned. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cellphone. She checked if Adele had responded to one of her calls, but no voice mail or text messages. What to do? She didn’t feel right just leaving. Ivo worked in a bank downtown on Princess. She knew his direct line because she’d returned his call the summer before when he was organizing a surprise birthday dinner for Adele. She found his number and tapped the screen. He answered on the second ring.
“Catherine,” he said as a way of greeting. His voice quavered as it always did when he spoke to her. He’d been a big awkward boy who’d grown into a man without quite recovering from his shyness. “What a pleasant surprise to see your name pop up. Everything okay?”
Now why had he asked that? “I’m not sure. Adele and Violet missed our appointment so I came by to see if they were feeling well. We were supposed to meet at playgroup in the church basement after lunch. The car’s in the drive but the front door was open. Nobody’s here.”
A pause, then, “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Sam and I came in to check on them since the door was open. Their breakfasts are on the table uneaten. Could they have gone out with someone spur of the moment? Maybe in a friend’s car?”
“I wouldn’t know who. Adele doesn’t have any other friends that I know of. I’m going to come home. Can you wait until I get there?”
“Of course.” She wanted to say no, but his voice had picked up the worry she’d been trying to ignore for the past half hour.
She was sitting on the couch with Sam in her lap, reading a book about trucks, when Ivo clumped into the front hall. She heard the sound of his keys hitting the bowl on the entrance table and something heavier dropping onto the hardwood floor. A moment later and his six-foot-three hulk entered the living room. His shoulders were stooped from trying to hide inside himself and from sitting at a desk all day. His wavy brown hair needed a cut and his glasses were small and round and could use an update. The mystery was why Adele had found him attractive enough to marry. Catherine studied him for hidden depths of character whenever Adele invited her and Sam for supper. They had to be there but so far she hadn’t detected anything spectacular. She’d always thought that Adele treated him as an afterthought.
“Any word?” he asked, voice hopeful.
“I’m afraid not,” Catherine said.
“Well, I have no idea where they could have gotten to. When I got up this morning, Adele said that she was going to let Violet sleep in and they were going out in the afternoon. What time is it now?”
“Going on four.”
“You checked the kitchen?”
Are you thick? “Yeah, and upstairs. Their breakfast is still on the table … uneaten.”
She and Sam trailed behind him into the kitchen. He stood looking at the food, then spun around to face her.
“Did you try the basement?”
“No. I couldn’t imagine what they’d be doing down there.” Even as she said the words, a kind of hysteria began bubbling somewhere around her ribcage. Wild horses couldn’t get her to go down there now.
“Well, I’ll just run and check. You wait here.”
“If you like.” She leaned against the kitchen counter and listened to his footsteps clumping down the stairs, fainter as he descended. Sam came over and tugged on her arm.
“I want to go home,” he said.
“In a minute. Let’s just wait to say goodbye to Ivo.” She kept an ear open as he made his way around the basement. What if Violet and Adele were down there? What would that mean? She pulled out her cellphone again and hit Adele’s number. Tapping the fingers of her free hand on the counter, she listened to it ring once, twice, three times and then Adele’s voice telling her to leave a message. Catherine didn’t hide her worry as she had in her last messages, or her growing impatience. “Where are you, Adele? We’re worried sick. Call me or Ivo as soon as you can.”
She shut her phone and listened for Ivo. Just as she was thinking about calling down to him to make sure he was okay, he reappeared at the top of the stairs, holding Violet’s pink knapsack with rabbit ears sticking out the open pouch. Puzzled lines creased the width of his forehead.
“That’s odd. Violet never goes anywhere without her rabbit. It looks like she was watching a movie this morning while Adele was making breakfast. The television is still on but the movie is over.”
“I wonder if we should call the police.”
The words had popped out. They held both of them motionless for a moment. Their meaning had opened a box of fear that neither of them had wanted to acknowledge before now. Ivo looked across to the table where the full plates of food sat untouched. His eyes circled the family room and the mess on the kitchen counter before sweeping back to meet her own.
“You might be right,” he said, “because I have absolutely no idea what is going on here. There has to be a logical explanation, but for the life of me, I can’t think what it could be.”
Chapter Two
The desk sergeant, Fred Taylor, took the call at exactly 4:23 p.m., and after a moment’s reflection punched it through to Staff Sergeant Jacques Rouleau. Taylor knew his decision to send the call to Major Crimes might be an overreaction, given that the mother and child were only missing a few hours, but the details put their disappearance into the higher risk category. And hadn’t he been warned to pay more attention when a child was involved? In any case, his conscience would be clear. Rouleau could decide.
Rouleau was in his office with Paul Gundersund when the phone rang. He held up a finger and smiled at Gundersund. “Hold that thought. I really want to know why you keep giving the Leafs your blind devotion when they finished in the basement again this year. It might be time to cut your losses and join the Habs’ fan club.”
Gundersund shook his head and watched Rouleau as he listened to whoever was at the other end of the call. His own stomach tightened when Rouleau’s features changed from relaxed to attentive, his mouth settling into a stern line. He reached for a pen and pad of paper and jotted down an address. Gundersund’s first thought was that something had happened to Rouleau’s ex-wife, Frances. The talk around the station was that she was in a hospice in Ottawa. Nobody knew where the rumour started, but it hadn’t come from Rouleau. Gundersund hadn’t known how to broach the subject with his boss.
Rouleau ended the call. He was still for a moment, deep in thought. His green eyes met Gundersund’s. “I think we should send someone to have a look at this one.”
Gundersund reached across the desk and took the paper from Rouleau. “What have you got?”
“A woman named Adele Delaney and her young daughter, Violet, didn’t turn up at an appointment after lunch. Her friend Catherine Lockhart went to check on them and found the front door open, breakfast still on the
